


Through Blood and Fire

by Per_Solem



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne's POV, Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, My take on what Brienne went through before, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, during and after the battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Per_Solem/pseuds/Per_Solem
Summary: Brienne's POV before, during and just after the Battle for the Dawn.[OS for now, may have a second chapter if creativity strikes.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we go ! I was completely out of my mind for the last couple of days, "The Long Night" killing me with the FEEELS. I've tried my hand at a Brienne's POV of this episode, daring to imagine what happened just after.
> 
> [Non english-native here, please don't hesitate to tell me if there are any typos I could rectify... thanks :) ]

She couldn't feel her fingers and she was terrified. 

She had been outside with Pod for a couple hours now, both of them feeling that resting was the last of their need. They had walk around the keep, Brienne insisting Pod recount again and again what he should do if she wasn't with him, if he was injured, or if a retreat was ordered. She needed to be sure he wouldn't get lost or blocked outside the walls, she had to know he had a real chance of getting out of there alive. Jaime had joined them not long after and Brienne hadn't been able to look him in the eyes, sure that everything foreign she had felt in her body earlier would prompt her to reveal a warm tenderness inappropriate for battle grounds.   
She didn't need to make a fool of herself on what was probably her first and last command. She, Ser Brienne of Tarth, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, needed to keep her head strong. She needed to prove herself worthy of this long-awaited title.

They had good numbers, thanks to the Dothrakis and the Unsullied armies. The strategy on which would operate her troups were sound. They actually had a chance to give Lord Snow and Lord Stark enough time to lure the Night King into a trap. But even knowing this, Brienne was scared. Not much for her own life, for it would be an honour to die in such a battle. Nonetheless, an acrid taste of shame crawled up in her mouth at the idea of going down quickly at the beginning. 

No, it wasn't for her that she feared, but for the two men at her sides.   
She feared for her brave and loyal Pod, who had grown into a steady soldier, true, but who remained so inexperienced still. And she feared for Ser Jaime, who held a special place in her heart though she had no intention whatsoever to vocalise that particular fact. He had confessed not being the soldier he used to be, and she feared his left-hand wouldn't be able to help him long. What if they died in front of her ? What if she saw their guts rush out from their belly and into the snow ? The light in their eyes dying, their body immobile and cold. 

_We're already cold, though,_ she pondered as freezing winds playing with her hair called her back to present time.

She shuddered, a cruel hand clutching her torso and affecting her breath. She closed her eyes, inhaled, exhaled, until calm sharpened her senses. She shook her head and resolved herself to stare straight ahead and wait for her enemy. If the Stranger was coming for her this night, she wouldn't go willingly. If he came for the two truest men she had the honour of meeting in this life, then she would defy, and roar and murder if it could sway their fate and spare them. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

It had looked like certain victory, those burning arakhs. _The white walkers can be killed by flames,_ she remembered. _Good, it will have its importance._ Her left hand caressing the pommel of Oathkeeper, she could outline Jaime's jaw, his entire body seemingly kissed by fire. Awe was upon his face, sharing the same confidence than she felt. Standing just beside him, she couldn't help but catch sight of his mouth slightly open, and she wondered not for the first time what it would be like to taste him there. 

She felt warm all of a sudden, her improper thoughts awakening a power within her which pulsed in her head, her right hand's fingers and down between her thighs where she wouldn't dare touch herself alone at night.   
_Now is no time for that !_ the lady knight admonished herself. The sexual stamina coursing threw her veins transformed itself in a restless need to fight, to hit, to punch, to attack her enemy and take it down blow by blow. She heard her blood sing in her ears when the Dothraki Screamers went ahead in a fury, seemingly without receiving any order to do so by the Mormont knight. 

Full of violent desires begging her to follow them and strike their enemies, she withdrew inside herself and steadied her breath. They weren't ordered to charge, why did they do so ? She tried to recall the specific battle plans chosen for them, what they should have done, what it meant for her own command and their own goals. She welcomed the sensible soldier which had grown those past few years inside her, relying on her to act logically and take swift decisions in the upcoming battle.

Suddenly, the flames of the horsemen's swords begun to falter and disappeared one by one, their thriumphant clamor changing to desesperate wailing of dying men. She looked at Jaime, his eyes calling hers at the same time. _That's not good, this is wrong._ And the rare dothrakis making it back, bleeding and terrified, finished to rouse the warrior inside her to life.

They were coming, their bones crackling in their run, their teeth biting the air menacingly, giving away their closing position. 

« STAND YOUR GROUND ! », she ordered, unsheathing her blade, and here they were.

At last. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Her body collided with wights and fellow soldiers, the obscurity making it near impossible to differentiate between foe or friend until they were mere inches from her. She blocked one on her left and didn't see an enraged creature charge into her right side. She fell, screaming at her failure, and saw the wights crash into her. Yelling to their gnarled mouths, she tried to shove them but their skeletons combined to old armors turned out to be too heavy for her.   
Thankfully, someone killed them with ferocious slashes in the back, allowing her to join the fight once more. She saw Jaime push one off his blade and she understood that he was the one who had just saved her. _He's got my back, I won't let him down !_

She followed him then, staying by his side when friendly dragons breathed fire onto their enemies, when magical creature of the night summoned a storm of cutting ice, and even when she lost all sensation of her own body as she blocked, cut, impaled, and pierced armors for dear life.

But he was there, always in her field of vision. She promised herself not to loose him.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

_Too many, there's too many._

The attacks were never faltering. The dead were coming from all sides, at any moment. When one was down, another one seemed to replace him in an instant. Jaime was still here, fighting like a mad man, his throat releasing fury and courage for each lunge he attempted. 

She was beginning to tire, her arms weary and her legs trying desesperatly to cope with the weight of her armor, and the mixture of snow, blood and shit threatening to take her down.   
Cut a leg on your right, feint, slash a throat, slash a belly, feint again, beat them badly, stab their hearts, break their skulls, and do it again. _They're too many._ She looked around, Jaime and Pod mimicking her own lethal routine. _We're outnumbered._ A red-head northerner died at her feet, a knife entering his left-eye socket. She was now sure they were all gonna die.

« FALL BACK !», she heard the Unsullied commander yell to his troups. She wasted no time and screamed the order to every man who would hear her. « FALL BACK ! » She grabbed one of them by his sleeve and run toward the gates at his side, pushing him to go faster. The wights were still jumping on them, unfazed by this change of events, tearing arms and legs and throats with their teeth. Brienne crossed the fields, escaping this death trap as fast as she could in order to secure the gates and protect those retreating with her.

In the mass of bodies coming towards her she saw Pod, still alive though covered in dirt and blood.   
« POD ! Pod, come on ! » She stopped him for a split second to check on him. His eyes were wide open, shocked and terrified, but he was okay. His hands grabbed her sleeves in a reassuring manner and she told him to go. He didn't argue, went far away inside the walls, far from the threat of the dead. As she continue to grant safe passage to the soldiers racing past her, she searched for Jaime whom she had lost in her haste. But everything was dark, even at the gates where torches were supposed to lead the way, and she couldn't locate him in the middle of this wave of desesperate humans. 

« GET IN ! GET INSIDE ! » She heard his voice on her right side, ordrering and echoing the horror she was living. She hold onto the absolute relief which procured the knowledge of him being alive and by her side in the outer ward. 

They were running inside Winterfell, trying to reach as fast as they could the wall walk, the wood-spiked covered with dragonglass slowing them down. She was nearly out of breath, or she supposed she was for she couldn't feel any reaction from her body, the raw energy keeping her alive alienating her sensations. She was on fire from head to toe, each time she swabbed her blade a gift and a curse. She needed to beat something senseless or she would probably die from combustion. She needed to spill blood, she was craving it. Brienne was quite certain she had lost her humanity and given herself completely to the Warrior Beast arousing her flesh from the inside, as honourable knights did to maidens in the songs.

He saw her then, and she must have been quite a sight because his face abruptly hardened and he nodded in her direction. He let her go up the stairs first, two at a time, and she heard him take charge of the troups in her place, his position of second-in-command unofficial but legitimate. She was unable to think clearly, unable to offer directions to them, as she was lost in fury and bloodlust.

« RELEAVE THE ARCHERS ! ARCHERS ON TOP ! » She heard Jaime bark orders and the unshakable belief of being right where she belongs hit her at full blast. She went to the right side of their wall walk, still looking at him, the authority in his voice giving strength to her grip, strength to her pace and she felt unstoppable. 

« DRAW ! » All she could hear was his voice and her own blood pumping through her veins. The dead were coming onto them, using the corpses of their own already-dead comrades to hiss themselves on top of the walls. They were trying, determined and tireless to pass through the crenelations, hurting themselves on dragonglass spikes. But the dead didn't scream and didn't feel, and they kept coming. The living were resolute not to give them any chance. But they were a large crowd, those dead, and the ones still breathing by her side were falling dead one by one. Stubbornly, Brienne didn't stop swiping and thrusting, not even once, not even when she remained the only one standing on her side of the wall. She knew she couldn't since stopping meant dying. She would never admit defeat so easily.

«NOOOO ! » Brienne turned around to see Jaime being outnumbered and trap against the wall at the other side of their battlement, his sword blocked between his breastplate and the dead coming at him. Rage and fear allowed her to kill swiftly any wights coming her way, her only goal saving Jaime before the Stranger welcomed him. She first kill one of them on her right side, not stopping her advance while slicing brutally a group of four. She was drawing closer to him, though she felt as if she was still too far away, too slow, too late. Roaring like a lion, she disposed of every dead crossing her path. At last, her sword hit and broke and crack them, and Jaime was up fighting again. 

Spontaneously, they fought back to back, protecting their blind sides, yelling warnings and slaughtering attackers. « LOOK OUT ! » They switched positions, turning around one another, in a dance they never had rehearsed but seemed to know by heart. Their bodies moving in harmony, never missing a step, never obstructing the other. 

Alone, they were good. Together, ravaging rotten flesh and shielding the living, as one mind and one body, they were invincible.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

It must have been hours. Hours of fighting, hours of killing, hours of seeing friends and fellow soldiers go down and return as enemies. Blood and dead skins were flying around her, painting her face and hair, filling her mouth at each shout and breath.

Podrick was back with them, joining their duo in the medium bailey when the wall walk couldn't be hold anymore. He was by her side when their own dead rose to unnatural life, their eyes now a frightening blue which glowed in the night, grabbed fallen weapons and charged them. If Brienne thought they were outnumbered before, she was now desesperate. No Dawn for them or for the world. No one to save them from eternal winter and a destiny worse than simple death.

« WE CAN'T GIVE UP ! WE CAN'T ! FIIIIIGHT ! FIGHT WITH ME ! » She clung to Jaime's breaking voice, clung to his shape moving in the corner of her left eye, clung to Pod's grunt.

_If I hear them, they're alive. If I'm in pain, I'm alive._

And so they fought, side by side, never stopping, nearly trapped against a wall. They protected each other as much as they could, helping Jaime when he tripped against a smashed head, freeing Pod from a bony hand's clasp on his right arm, piercing one of those who tried to suffocate her.   
Never stopping their assault, never ceasing, never yielding.

All of a sudden, the battle was finished. She was slicing a belly when all of them fell on the ground, their armors and blades clashing in a staggering melody.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

The silence felt surreal. After so much shouts, cries and wails, hearing only their breaths was particularly oppressing. She dared not move from her spot, her back against the wall, Oathkeeper loosely hanging by her right side. 

Observing the corpses was all she could do. Begging them to stay still and be gone for good. Begging them to rise up once more so she could have a good reason to hit something. The energy built up in her body not completely spent, Brienne was shaking, engage in a battle of her very own design now.

_They're gone. Breathe. It's over. You need to calm down, you need to focus !_

« My Lady Ser, are you alive ? » Pod's voice broke her thoughts and forced her to pay attention to her surroundings. Still not moving or blinking, she was now aware of the ones on her left, two men still alive and trembling just as she was. Not seeing them but feeling them, sensing their heat, hearing their breathing. _They're beautiful._

« M'lady ? » His voice just a whisper, pleading for an answer, begging for the sound of Brienne's voice, desesperatly needing to know if she was still there.

« I...I'm here, Podrick » 

« Oh thanks to the gods, old and new and their bastards...thank you, thank you, thank you !». It was Jaime, closest to her and right there at her side. She couldn't turn and watch him, for her eyes seemed to be glued to the mountains of cadavers piling up in front of her. 

Slowly, her left hand found the wall, fingertips sliding against the rocks dripping with blood. She searched blindly for him, extanding her arm in his direction but failing to touch or grasp any part of him. He seemed to understand her intentions for soon she had her hand on his golden one. But it was cold, so cold. She wanted him, she wanted to feel his skin, feel the life raging inside him. She wanted the raw feel of his hairs, she wanted the transpiration due to hours of battle, she wanted his scent on her, she wanted him to be entirely around her, filling every gap which were hurting her like daggers in the back.

Still without looking at him, her fingers found the small tie keeping the false hand in place, dived into his sleeve, captured his forearm and never let go. She stopped herself from reaching for the side of his armour, for his shirt, for the skin on his waist, not trusting her own body to obey her anymore if she let it feel more of him. She just stayed there, leant against the wall, this physical connection between them, as small as it was, enough to ground her and calm her senses.

Pod came closer to them, sobbing softly. She turned her head slightly, not daring to fully look at him in fear of what she would discover. She glimpsed his shaking shoulders, his head hiding in Jaime's left breastplate. She heard Widows'wail hit the stone-floor and felt herself being thrown against the old lion. His golden hand hit her back as he was furiously hugging them both and she reeived the pain gladly. She lost herself in him, pressed herself against his right side, her left hand never leaving its place on his arm. Desesperatly, she pulled Pod closer to her with her right hand still clenching her sword, Jaime helping her by crushing her body to theirs. 

They stayed still, breathing in unison, shocked to be alive, blessed to be together. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Once the absolutely unpredictable victory begun to make sense and believed, if the stillness of the dead were any indications, they let their muscles relax and allowed themselves to speak. 

« I need to breathe. Sorry, but I need to breathe. » Pod let go of them with difficulty and went to collapse in the middle of the dead, using their bodies as a makeshift bed. His warmth left her and she unconsciously brought her body closer to Jaime's, desesperate not to lose his. He inhaled sharply and she feared her boldness hadn't been welcome. Perhaps Pod wasn't the only one in need of space and Jaime wouldn't dare say so. 

As she was distancing herself from the wall they were both leaning into, she felt the muscles in his right arms tightened and her lower body found itself pressed into his own. She embraced the happiness coursing through her body, glad not to be a bother to him.

« Don't go anywhere Wench, I'm not sure I'll stay alive if you do ». His voice was raspy and low, barely higher than a whisper.   
« My name is not Wench, Ser Jaime » she answered in a low growl, not believing he would actually use his old nickname right now.  
« Ah yes, of course. I beg your pardon... Don't go anywhere, Ser Brienne of Tarth, knight of the Seven Kingdoms, daughter of the Evenstar and heir to the Sapphire Isle, hero of the Battle of the Dawn, and the only reason I'm still breathing this putrid air.»

She could hear he was not jesting, the admiration and gratitude filling his words quite clear in her ears, leaving her to wonder how she could deserve the honour of such respect when most of the men she commanded to battle were dead right now.

« A hero... I don't feel like one, my men...»  
«... have died and survived under your command, and if they have any amount of brainpower, they will consider it an honour, as do I.»

Staying in his arm, hiding her face in his neck, her forehead against the frozen wall, she desesperatly tried to not cry thinking about those she had failed.

« You shouldn't have knighted me !»  
« It was the truest and rightest thing I've done in my life and there's nothing you can do which would make me regret it.»  
« I couldn't even give them orders !»  
« That's called shock, _Ser Wench_ , quite normal for your first battle.»  
« Don't call me that !»  
« Why ? That's your title, Wench !»  
« Oh shut up you too ! Aren't you done fighting ? We've been fighting all night. I'M done fighting, so please just SHUT UP !»

 

A few seconds passed in silence, none of them knowing what to say after Podrick's outburst, but still clinging to each other against that wall.

She felt tremors in her chest, slowly bubbling in her throat to finally dissolve into tears and snorts. She was joined by Jaime and Pod, the three of them soon collapsing into laughter. Her sides were burning, spliting due to the uncontrolled hilarity and bruises she hadn't felt until now. Her left hand didn't leave its hidden place inside his right sleeve even though they did move apart during this cathartic experience they were enjoying. 

______________________________________________________________________________________________

That's how Arya Stark found them, howling, barely breathing, slapping their hands up and down, fat tears rolling down their bloody cheeks. When they noticed her however, they calmed down instantly, her closed expression reminding them of the battle they fought and the friends they lost. 

« I killed him. I killed the Night King. »

Brienne took a sharp breath of air, unable to believe of fully understand what she was saying. 

« I used my trick. The trick we practised. He had me by the throat, you see. But I let my blade drop, catch it with my right hand and stabbed him. Just like we practised. It's valyrian steel, my blade. We only needed that. »

Arya joined young Pod and sit beside him, her legs perfectly crossed, her back straight, and a dark shadow in her eyes. 

« I fear I wasn't quick enough, though. Jon's in the crypt right now, making sure everyone's okay. I'm afraid they're dead too. »  
« Why would they be ? The crypts were secure and the doors heavy. There's no reason they would have... »

Terror closed her throat and the words she had thought to say. 

« The crypts are full of dead... » 

Jaime gave voice to her fears, and suddenly she saw her Lady Sansa, her torso opened by teath and claws, screaming in agony. She had vowed to protect her and had probably failed. Once again, The gods were playing with her, and her misery.  
As sheer agony filled her heart, she catched a ray of sunlight lightning the wall leading to the inner curtain, and she dared hope again. For here she was, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell, her magnificient red hair let loose and dripping with blood, a nasty cut on her left cheekbone and a dragonglass knife in her right hand. She nearly missed the small shadow at her side, its body violently shaking from exhaustion. But she saw Jaime rush to his side like a madman, lifting his dwarf brother like a baby and locking him in his arms. Lady Sansa, a wide smile on her face, came towards her and Arya, giggling with relief. 

« I'm so glad you're alive ! » She clasped her hands on Brienne's, looking straight in her eyes with something akin to mischief. « I heard congratulations are in order, Ser Brienne ? » 

She couldn't help the enormous smile on her face, or the redness of her cheeks, or even the tears in her eyes, but as she caught Jaime observing her with pride (and she could only dream was something akin to tenderness), she decided to welcome her destiny with open arms.

They had survived through Fire and Blood, and if they were winners in this battle, the war wasn't finished yet. But for now, she could rejoice and appreciate her luck. They were alive, at dawn, together, and their odd mismatched gathering couldn't be more perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of you asked for a second chapter, so here it is. You could say this second chapter is a pre-episode 4 chapter. It takes place before the burning ceremony and before the feast.  
> I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it ! :) 
> 
> Again, I'm not an english native, so typos and wrong sentence structure are bound to happen. TELL ME, and I'll fix it ! :)

When people ask you about war, most of the time they're talking about the heat of battles, about the attacks, about people dying in front of you. They want to know what it feels like to take a man's life, to hear your friends' screams, to forget your identity and let the monster within rule your body. They have weird notions of heroism, of duty, of being part of a larger group destined to do good. 

None of them are wrong to wonder how it's like, for battles are important. They're both dreams and nightmares, and people should know why men (and some rare women) don't smile as often as before, why they try to forget with dornish wine and bitter beer, why they look at their beautiful children and suddenly cry.

Some of them, the most curious and scholarly ones, are more interested in the strategy. They wonder about the secret meetings between rulers and commanders, about the arguments concerning troup movements, the counting and production of weapons and armors. How do you prepare for a siege ? What do you expect from the common man, from the pregnant woman and the energetic child ?

Again, all these questions should be asked. No army would ever see victory if these problems weren't solved before any confrontation. Every army need to know exactly when to charge, high-born ladies and intendants need to be sure the food will be plenty in case of a prolonged fight. What would blacksmiths and farriers do without those informations ?

Brienne knew about all of these topics. She had been raised as the heir of Tarth, she had received a military education. Not that she was supposed to, being a Lady, but after the death of Galladon and her apparent inability to perform her feminine duties, her Lord father the Evenstar had no other choice but to agree.

« You want to fight ? Fine, we'll teach you. It will be hard and I won't have any mercy » had said Master Goodwin to her eight years old self. « You'll have the same training I offered to your late brother. You'll be a warrior, girl, ain't no fear about that. But fighting isn't just having a big sword and beating foul men bloody. It's about using your head, too. Are you sure you'd be able to do that ? »

She had been sure and she had learnt everything. She was present at the war council before the deads' arrival, she had given her opinion. It had been practical and sound, though more experienced lords did point her omissions. She was a warrior of the roads, lethal against thefts and in tournaments. She had never been part of a great battle and she was humble enough to admit her own shortcomings. 

Yet, Brienne had never asked how it was _after_ a battle. She had never thought it could be just as necessary to have an idea of the duties of soldiers, or how to treat the injured and how to determine those of greater needs. She had never thought a victorious campaign could be so tiring, so loud, so grim. 

She never thought she would hate it.  
_____________________________________________

It's been three day since the dead collapsed in front of her after hours of menacing bites, frightening stares and deadly strikes. She barely had eaten anything since the beginning of the battle, their food supply in partly spoiled by the deads' blood and shit. Some soldiers had tried to hide in the pantries, thinking the wights wouldn't find them so deep in the keep. They had been obviously wrong and their corpses had wasted the goods. Now, those still living had to ration the meat and rare vegetables they had at disposal.

Brienne had volonteered for the task she was performing for three days straight, and she had agreed to take command of the small group of bruised soldiers, young children and former cook helping. They were all good and dutiful, never complaining or faltering in their mission. Even the young boy of seven presently at her right side hadn't made a fuss when she had given him his first assignment. 

She couldn't have dreamt of a better crowd, but right now she wanted be alone, away from them, far from anyone. She wanted to go back to the small but private room she had been given. She wanted to find something, _anything_ to eat, to remove those clothes which weren't hers and finally to take a fucking bath. 

She had understood the need for hard-working days, hardly resting or taking the time to process what had transpired a few nights ago, or what was coming ahead. She was even proud to be part of such a group, doing what was _right_ , what was _necessary_. Problem was, exhaustion and pain made her want to cry like a frightened child.

The Lady Knight exhaled harshly, a headache pulsing on her right temple and behind her eye. She was violently shivering from the cold and tiredness, and sour bile kept going up her throat each time she had to lower herself to the ground. All of this was getting on her nerves, and she feared she wouldn't able to control herself much longer and act unjustly towards her companions. But it was so hard, she couldn't believe how hard it was and felt much shame to have been naive enough to believe they would have feast, forget and enjoy the victory as if nothing ever happened. 

Because it _happened_ , and though much part of her was honoured to serve and quite sure soldier life was the right path for her, another smaller one was begging her to leave and never come back. She wanted to furiously ride to Tarth, to never see the dead behind her eyelids, to never drink the blood of her enemy, to never wash her teeth full of rotten skin. She wanted the beaches, the white sand, the frisky ocean air, the fishes swimming on her feet, carressing her manish ankles. She wanted her childhood back, her lonely, cruel childhood. It would be peaceful. Cruel, but peaceful, unlike her bleeding heart.

Truthfully, after three days of barely eating, barely sleeping, barely stopping in her task, not knowing where were Pod and Ser Jaime or even how they were faring, she really felt like saying fuck to honour and duty and just go have a sodding bath. 

«M'Lady... er, pardon me, Ser ? Lady Sansa would like to speak with you. » Lil'Corren was swaying from one foot to another, not really sure of what to do next. Brienne finished to strip the dead Unsullied from his armor, being careful not to damage the ties joining its different parts. She inspected his weapon, a long spear made with wood and dragonglass, and sighed regrettably. The dragonglass spike was too damaged to be of any use or even repairable, and the middle section would be useless to the blacksmiths. 

_At least, it will have a second purpose in the fireplace._

She placed the broken weapon in the wain reserved to wreckeg things and then turned to look at the young boy following her every steps. 

« Thank you for telling me, Corren. I've already sorted his armor, it's still in good shape and should serve another soldier soon enough. Could you take it and put it in the other cart up there ? »  
« «'Course Ser ! Right away, Ser ! »

She nodded her thanks and begun to walk to the main gates of Winterfell, careful not to look at the corpses lining up a few feet from her path. It had been their goal for the past few days : counting the dead, finding the injured who could be saved, putting an end to those whose injuries were too serious to be healed, and finally scavenging the still bodies. She couldn't say she was bored, for there was so many of them. _So many_.

A sharp pain coursed through her left thigh, forcing to slow her pace. She hadn't been aware of her injury right away, making itself known a few hours after the Night King's defeat. She had been in the war room, drinking some wine with the Lannisters and Podrick, when a hot liquid had run down her leg and dropped at her feet. It wasn't a grave injury, but seeing the teeth mark on her flesh had frozen her entire body, making it difficult to stay calm and breathe. The three men had insisted she went right away see a maester, anyone really, who had a modicum of healing skills, but she had refused, insisting on joining those helping with the cleaning. She would fine, she had said. It was but a minor scratch, she had promised. At the end of day, however, after much carrying, pushing and walking, she had been forced to recognize the severity of her wound. 

It had been cleaned and healed by Sam Tarly, his shaking hands and teary eyes no help to her grim thoughts. He had been quick and effective, though, and now a ribbon of linen was around her thigh, helping her recovery. Brienne urged herself to be quicker, seeing Lady Sansa and Lord Snow inspecting the damaged berms. She had thought to join Lady Sansa in the Great Hall where she was most of the time seen planning the repairs, but apparently Brienne had been too slow and Lady Sansa forced to come to her. Brienne felt her cheeks reddened as the thought, shame in her failure as a sworn sword faltering her steps. 

« Ser Brienne, here you are ! »

Brienne inclined her head in respect and began her apology.

« Lady Sansa, Lord Snow, I'm terribly sorry you had to leave the Great Hall. I've been informed of your request to see me a few moments ago. I would have come sooner to spare you the trouble of walking amongst the dead. »  
« Do not worry, I was already outside with Jon when I asked for you and I'm not afraid of the dead. I would think it terribly rude of those alive to refuse and see the sacrifice made by our friends. But tell me, how are you and your group faring, Ser ? »  
« Good, my Lady. We're progressing steadily. I would say our area will be cleaned in a couple of hours, just before sundown. »  
« I'm happy to hear that, we need to honour our dead quickly, they deserve it. Thank you so much for volunteering, Lady Brienne. »

Lady Sansa put her right hand on her left arm, a simple gesture which warmed Brienne and cleared her head of some of her dark thoughts. Lady Sansa gave her a sad, little smile, her pretty eyes reflecting Brienne's weariness, for she also had not allowed herself the luxury of resting since the end of the Long Night. Lord Snow turned his body towards Brienne who instantly straighten her back, ready to accomplish whichever task he was about to give her. 

« You've been quite helpful, Ser Brienne, I thank you. We've just had news from your squire, Podrick Payne. His group had finished their task earlier today, they've had time to rest and eat. You can releave your men from their post and go take care of yourself. My group will join young Podrick's and finish your area. »

Brienne unwillingly let a big breath of air escape her mouth. She was so tired of decaying corpses and putrid smell, so tired of stripping them of their clothes. She could do nothing but nod in gratitude, an unnamed heaviness leaving her shoulders right away.

« Thank you My Lord, it's most kind of you. I'm sure my group will be most pleased. They've been working really hard and without protest, they're loyal people. »  
« Aye, I know. We wanted to go there with my sister to tell them the good news by ourselves and see the evolution outside the gates. »  
« Of course. » Brienne inclined her head, ready to leave the fields surrounding the northern fortress, when a thought crossed her mind. « Pardon me my Lord, my Lady, but would you know where I could find Podrick ? »  
« He was in need of wine, apparently, and was headed towards the keep to Lord Lannister's chambers. You'll probably find them both there, but I would suggest you have a bath prepared in your own chambers first and change your clothes, Lady Brienne... without taking on another duty in your way to the Great Keep, of course !» Lady Sansa looked at her filthy garments and grimaced with sympathy. Brienne was about to speak, protests in her mind so numerous she didn't know where to begin, but Lady Sansa cut her short with a sharp tone : « You've deserved your rest, Ser. You've done your part dutifully, before, during and after the battle. _Please_ , don't force me to order you to bathe ! »

Lord Snow snorted softly, amused by the idea of Lady Sansa having to order her sworn sword to clean herself, and Brienne couldn't stop herself from smiling broadly to her Lady. She curtsied one last time, turned swiftly and resumed her walk toward the gates, her step way less heavy and faster than before, the call of hot water and new clothes so seductive she could only stop herself from running to her chambers knowing it wouldn't be appropriate for a high-born lady _and_ a knight to do so. 

But she wished she could.

_____________________________________________

Days and nights were less cold since the destruction of the Night King and his army, but the air blowing through Winterfell's corridors was still quite chilly. Her damp hair, which had lengthened considerably in the past months, was aggravating her headache. The hot bath had been good, softening her back and neck muscles, but she still hadn't had time to eat. Her stomach was painfully empty and she feared she would faint from the lack of sustenance. 

Reaching her destination, Brienne automatically went for her sword's pommel, caressing it and wondering if Ser Jaime would be there. She hoped to see him and Podrick, wanting to know which duties they had been assigned to and if they had met any difficulties. Were they as lucky as she had been and been given a nice, loyal group of comrades ? Were their injuries healing nicely ?

Taking a deep breath of air, she knocked on the door of the famous dwarf. She heard multiple voices and a chair scraped the stonefloor, followed by heavy steps coming towards her. It opened itself, the sight greeting Brienne leaving her speechless. Ser Jaime's frame seemed to shine, vivid beams of gold and red being cast from the fireplace. He was awkwardly holding the door open with his right stump, its heaviness taking its toll on his weakest arm. 

_Magnificent._

His clothes had been lent by the Starks, its dark colors a grim contrast with the deep red Lannister tunic she had been accustomed to see him wear. He had his swordbelt laced up his waist, its colour contrasting with the black garnment and accentuating his vigorous body. His right sleeve had been rolled up a bit to ease his movements, and though most women would be appalled to see his wound, Brienne couldn't stop herself from _cherishing_ it. 

It was proof Jaime Lannister was a good, honourable man, putting himself in danger for her when it shouldn't have mattered. That he was a brave man, who had survived losing his sword-hand when it was all he had for himself at the time. He had trained and gained back most of his glorious abilities, though she didn't think he could ever be as good as he were before. She could do nothing but respect him, glad he was trusting his brother and Podrick enough not to hide it with his golden hand. 

She met his eyes and saw her silent observation of his right arm had unsettled him. He smiled tentatively, his eyes quietly questionning hers, and she felt she had to reassure him her thoughts weren't cruel or full of disgust. She curtsied briefly, as knights-in-arms were prone to do, hoping her following words would sooth his unease.

« Good day, Ser Jaime. I'm glad to see your bruises were cared for and on the road to recovery. Your wrist doesn't look as swollen as before.»  
« Thank you, Ser Brienne. And yes, my arm is doing quite well, Lord Tarly's doing a very good job as it is... Would you prefer if I'd put on my false hand ? I would understand you'd prefer not to see it, my maiming I mean. It would be no bother to me a- »  
« I wouldn't, ser Jaime. It doesn't distress me. On the contrary. I'm quite used to it, if you recall. »

There was a heavy silence between, their eyes never leaving the other's, expressing in silence what million of words wouldn't be able to properly convey. 

« Right. Of course. » Ser Jaime gulped, the faint smile he bore earlier turning broad and true. « If I'm correct, you've been discharged from your duties ? »  
« Not so much as discharged but replaced, » she answered, « Lady Sansa and Lord Snow thought it best, and I must admit we needed the respite. »  
« You were in charge of the broadest area, my Lady Ser, » she heard Podrick say from within,  « it must have been quite tiring ! »

Ser Jaime seemed to recall at this instant that she was still outside of the room, waiting for his invitation to join their little group by the fire. He moved aside and extended his left hand, welcoming her hurriedly, his attempt to take on a formal posture failing when his right stump slipped from the door and unbalanced him. Brienne quickly extended her hands to help him, but he refused her assistance with an awkward chuckle and straightened himself up before closing the door.  
A sharp laugh full of mischief escaped Lord Tyrion's throat. The little man had been quiet until then, his sudden amusement startling the Lady Knight.

« By the gods, brother, one could think you're the drunk one here ! » He waved from the wooden chair he was sitted in by the fire and continued : « Ah, Lady Brienne ! Such a pleasure to see you, at last ! It seems our paths never crossed since our meeting in the medium courtyard the other day. »  
« Yes, we were all quite busy, my Lord. I hope you are well ? »  
« Quite well or as much as one can be after such terrible events... Please, join us ! We were just finishing our lunch, and if I'm not wrong there's still some stew left. »

Brienne took a place directly in front of the fire, enjoying the warmth caressing her face while Ser Jaime went to fill a plate of stew from the cooking pot placed on a small buffet at the right of the furnace. Her eyes quickly went over his form, pleased by the absence of injuries and, she had to be honest with herself, enjoying the shape of his backside. 

Uneased with her thoughts, she turned her head promptly to her left only to see Podrick staring at her, _amused_. She frowned, her irritation to have been caught appreciating a man's body, _this_ man's body, quite clear, silently ordering her squire to _forget right now_ and _never speak about it again_.  
Apparently, grown man or not, Podrick was still intimitaded by her, or respected her authority enough, for he lowered his gaze to his own plate and resumed his eating. She accepted the bowl Ser Jaime gave her, not quite meeting his vibrant green eyes, blaming the heat of the fire for the redness on her cheeks. She murmured her thanks and began to eat, the blank flavour not bothering her for she was famished and desesperate to ingest anything at all.

« I'm not sure if you're aware, m'Lady Ser, but I'm to be the one finishing the job ! »  
« Yes, Lord Snow told me as much Podrick. You'll see we've been quite effective and there's not much left to accomplish. We've got four carts. Two of them are used to collect anything still of use for soldiers and common men, armors and clothes mostly, » Brienne explained between bites, trying but failing to eat slowly. « The others are to be brought to the craftspeople. They might find a new life to those items. »  
« Noted, Lady Brienne. I'll make sure it's done perfectly, » The young squire appeared to hesitate, his next words seemingly lost or blocked in his throat. « Pardon me m'Lady if my words offend you... but you look awfully tired. You should rest before the feast. »  
« The feast ? There's to be a feast ? »

She stopped her wooden spoon in mid-air, not remembering if she had heard anything about a feast. Her group had been far away from the keep, dealing with the farthest corpses. It could explain why such news didn't reach them during the days, and since she had spent her rare solitary hours trying to sleep alone in her chambers, no one could have told her at night.

« Yes, Lady Sansa had the idea, actually. She said it would help us, keeping our thoughts from the dead and relishing being alive. »  
« And right she is, » added Ser Jaime, « we've honoured them by bringing them back home to their families, and we will pay our respect at sundown. Each battle needs a joyous conclusion, or soldiers wouldn't have any hope left in their heart. ». 

He spoke with the authority of an experienced commander who had had his share of post-battle days. It grounded her and endorsed her engagement in her entrusted duties.

« I'm not one to refuse drinks, dances and music, so I'm rather greatful for my former wife ! » said Lord Tyrion. He lifted his goblet, already full of beer and exclaimed : « To the dead ! Be their new path full of adventures, tits and wine ! » 

Ser Jaime snorted softly, lifting his own cup in respect, and she heard Podrick laugh, his mouth full of stew. Smiling slightly, she watched him swallow quickly, wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up. He placed his finished bowl on the buffet, and excused himself. 

« I was happy to see you today, Podrick, though it wasn't for long. »  
« Likewise, m'Lady. I'm looking forward the feast to spend time with you. » Podrick took her left hand in his own, and shyly aded : « I've missed you. I'm not used not having you bossing me around ! » 

Brienne accepted the jest for what it was, a hidden confession of love which brought tears to her eyes and made her forget for a while her childhood isle. Her fingers tightened around his wrist and she wished she wasn't so cautious to demonstrate her feelings. She wished she would just hug him senseless, as she did after the battle, just to be sure he knew he was important and so very cherished. She wished he wouldn't leave this room and they would spend the rest of the day telling each other stories of what happened, of what they felt and what they feared.

_Tonight. Tonight we drink, we rejoice and we live._

Podrick went to the door, opened it and as he was about to exit Lord Tyrion's chambers stopped himself. He looked at her over his shoulder and said curiously :

« I wanted to thank you, Ser Jaime, for asking about m'Lady Ser. She clearly needs to rest and without your thoughtful queries on her behalf, I'm not sure she would have stopped performing her duties. So...thank you. »

Brienne thought she heard the door close, but she couldn't be sure for she was too busy staring at Ser Jaime in shock, uncertain she had heard right. He faced her, smiling pleasantly as if it was nothing. He went to place his bowl on the buffet, taking his brother's and her own empty one at the same time, and went back to his chair on the left side of the fireplace quietly. 

« You asked about me ? But... but why ? »  
« Because I know you and your desesperate sense of duty, _Ser Wench_. » Before she could say anything about the awful nickname, he continued : « I had a guess you weren't going to stop working before dropping dead from exhaustion yourself. I mean, Podrick and I met each night in the Great Hall to have a drink and eat some stew, and we waited for you but you never came ! So we asked about your whereabouts, and each time it was the same story : you were still helping with the dead or you were making sure others had time to rest and proposed to finish their task in their stead. And we didn't dare go to your chambers for fear we would awake you... » 

His voice sounded angry now, as if it displeased him not to have known how she was faring those last few days, as if it had mattered to him, as if he had wondered about her as much she had about him. Brienne found his ire astonishingly delightful. 

« So...today...when my crew and I finished our duties, we went to help young Pod's group so it would go faster. Lady Sansa was there and I told her you've been remarkably absent and taking in many tasks. We both agreed it had to stop. I suppose she finally found a way to order you to take care of yourself first. »

Brienne drop her head in shame, knowing full well he was right. She wouldn't have stopped if Lady Sansa hadn't _nearly_ commanded her to bathe. She wouldn't have _wanted_ to stop, even bruised and drained as she was, for she didn't feel brave enough to cease. Lord Tyrion hinted he understood her issue, for he began to speak in a very calm, soothing voice :

« Don't take my brother's concerns the wrong way, Ser Brienne, no one's judging you. Hell, I've been working as hard as you've been until last night, though my work requires more brain than brawl, if you'll excuse my words... it was tiring, of course, and I wished for my bed more than anything. »  
« Even more than wine ? »  
« Yes, even more than wine, brother ! » Lord tyrion answered to the sarcastic interruption, « but, I was grateful for the work. I didn't want to sleep, I didn't want to see these small children being torn apart by corpses and I certainly didn't want to ask myself why _I_ had been granted the right to live and _not them_. »

Brienne closed her eyes and saw them fall at her feet, Northerners and Unsullied, Dothrakis and Wildlings. So many dead and she still living.

« And I know it was your first command, and I can imagine you must feel guilty to live when so many of your men don't. The gods know I feel guilty for all the men and women dead because of me or my family, the most important of them being my own mother. »  
«  _That_ wasn't your fault... » cut firmly Ser Jaime, « whatever Father or Cersei ever did say, it was nev- »  
« I know, Jaime ! I know ! My point is... _knowing_ is not enough. » The youngest brother stopped talking, searching for the right thing to say. His hand combed his hair abruptly, betraying his annoyance at his loss of words. He turned fully towards Ser Jaime, quite agitated. « You've got to _believe_ it. Myself, I couldn't get rid of the guilt of surviving this dreadful battle for the Dawn before last night. Before I accepted I had no say in the matter. And Lady Brienne, pardon me, _Ser_ Brienne, need to come to terms with it or she will kill herself. And none of us wants that ! »

Brienne didn't answer this last outburst, her eyes still fixed to the stone floor, the flames suddenly quite cold. 

« Lady Brienne ? Please, look at me... » 

Ser Jaime's voice gently forced her to turn her face towards his. She exhales painly, not sure she could resist the need to cry ugly in front of the Lannister brothers. 

« I still remember them all. I won't ever forget the first man I killed, or the first friend I watched die at my feet. But Time heals us all, I swear, and it becomes easier. Each time I commended a troup, each time Ser Brienne. Each time, I knew some of them wouldn't come back. I wished we could all be victorious, but it's war and you've got to live. Please, my Lady, _live and honour them_. »

She shuddered under his piercing gaze, quite sure he could examine her whole, as if she was naked to him, a shy maiden offered to a powerful knight. It soothed her to know it was _him_ , only him, who could see inside her with such ease, for his little brother was right in his assumption but used too much words when so few were needed. Only his comforting and accepting presence was enough.

_What would they say if I told them the horrid kingslayer was able of such compassion and understanding ? What would they say if I told them I love him ?_

_____________________________________________

They stayed together a bit longer, each of them lost in the dancing flames and memories they would like to erase forever, but content to share these intimate moments with trusted allies. 

« I see you've kept your sword at your side, Ser Jaime. »  
« So did you, Ser Brienne. »  
« I didn't feel like distancing myself from it. When I don't feel it against my thigh, it's as though I've forgotten something. »  
« I understand. To be quite honest, the first day I kept it in hand for fear the dead would risen again. »  
« That was one of the fear keeping me awake at night, yes. »

He nodded at her simply, acknowledging her fear without judgement. As they prepared themselves to attend the burning ceremony, Ser Jaime catched her right arm and silently asked to stay back a minute. His demeanor seemed serious, the subject of his thought stiffening his body in a way Brienne could nearly believed to be nervous.

« Ser Brienne. I wanted to say... I wanted to say I was honoured to have fought by your side and I hope to do so again in the upcoming battle. »  
« The battle against Queen Cersei, you mean ? »  
« Yes, exactly. I don't know If I'm gonna be allowed to have any part in it, for obvious reasons, but... If the Targaryen girl accepts it, then I would very much like to be by your side. »

Brienne inhaled sharply, images of their bodies dancing around each other's as they slayed their foes coming to her, beautiful and sacred. Of course, she wanted him next to her in battle. She didn't wish him to be elsewhere. She needed him to be with her, supporting her, maintaining order when she couldn't for he was the only one she trusted enough to have that much power over her.  
Lord Tyrion was walking ahead of them, not waiting for them to follow him. He had probably understood this was a personal conversation in which he had no right to participate.

« I'll ask for you to be my Second-in-Command, » she settled firmly. « It...it would also be an honour to have you. I mean, to have you near me, of course. At my side, _in battle_. »

She hoped he didn't hear her slip of the tongue, not knowing what to say if he decided to engage in this particular topic. But he didn't seem to catch it, as he exhaled loudly his breath as if he had kept it inside, fearfully awaiting her answer. His eyes crinkled on the side, adding more beauty to his lion face. Brienne didn't think he could be even more gorgeous. How _wrong_ she was.

« You make me a happy man, Ser Brienne. You can trust me to protect you and fulfill my duties. I won't let you down. »  
« I know. I trust you, Ser Jaime. »  
« Ah also, all those titles are confusing me. What do you say, in the presence of military officers or in battle council, we should keep to _Sers_ , since we're both knights. »  
« Um, yes Ser Jaime, of course. » Her voice echoed the confusion she felt at this change of subject. « How else could I call you ? »  
« Jaime. You could call me Jaime. » His grip on his arm tightened itself and Brienne froze on her spot, unable to move or breathe. « I trust you, yes. I've just told you that, but... I trust you _the most_. I would trust you with my life, I've already done so and I would do it again. I won't have the audacity to assume this is a reciprocated sentiment but... I would be honoured, when we're alone, to have your permission to call you by your name. Only your name. »  
« My name's not Wench » she blurted, stuttering. « You can't call me, Wench. But you can call me by my name. You can. I'd be pleased if you did. »

He laughed softly then, his old overconfident and sarcastic self coming back up. 

« Then I'll try not to displease you, _Wench_. »  
« Gods, you're insufferable ! »

She turned angrily on her fett, resuming her walk, her steps wide and forceful. She heard him snort behind her and felt him join her side moments later. His shoulder brushed hers as they went down the stairs leading to the inner courtyard. 

« Thank you, _Brienne_. »

Her step nearly faltered but she kept her composure, not daring to say anything. _Tonight we drink, we rejoice and we live_. She was so glad to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos, guys. Comment and kudos ! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and Kudos give me energy and awaken my muse ! I'd love to hear what you think and feel about this OS. :)


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